


The Very Thought of You

by Vagrant_Blvrd



Series: Kings of Nowhere [36]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-14
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 01:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15984506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagrant_Blvrd/pseuds/Vagrant_Blvrd
Summary: The first time Michael goes to the coffee shop nestled between a used bookstore and one of those mail stores, it’s out of desperation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill for Miss-Ingno who asked for a Myan coffeeshop AU. :D?

The first time Michael goes to the coffee shop nestled between a used bookstore and one of those mail stores, it’s out of desperation. 

It’s new, opened in the last couple of weeks and has been gaining traction around campus as a great alternative to the franchise place on every corner. Less expensive with a nice atmosphere, and as an added bonus the hipsters haven't moved in en masse just yet.

Michael doesn’t particularly care about any of that after a night out with Gavin and his other stupid fucking friends, no. Not with the kind of terrible decision making that had him thinking an early class would be fine when he enrolled this semester. (Piece of cake and better chance of finding a parking spot without having to fight for one.)

No, Michael just needs caffeine to get him through the morning, and he’s not above injecting it strait into his veins if he has to. 

The sign above the door reads _BB’s Coffee and Baked Goods_ , in neat block letters, bell jingling merrily when Michael steps inside.

The décor is all dark stained wood and light walls. Tables and booths with dark red upholstery and and soft lighting. 

Cozy. Quiet. 

Your typical coffee shop, really. 

The barista gives him a bemused look as Michael squints at the menu. He never knows what to order when he goes somewhere new because coffee places use different names for shit and what the fuck - 

“Do you have any allergies?”

Michael blinks, dragging his attention away from the menu to the barista who’s watching him.

He’s smiling, just the tiniest bit, but it’s not mocking the way it should be. There’s some sympathy in there.

“Sorry, what?”

The barista has a nice laugh, like. A _really_ nice laugh.

Michael must be more tired than he realizes because now the poor guy is _blushing_ , which means – like an idiot – Michael must have said that out loud.

“Oh, shit,” Michael says, suddenly a little more awake, because holy shit, that was super shitty of him.

This poor guy is working and doesn’t need a disaster of a human being like Michael bothering him like that on the job.

He’s worked food service jobs before. Knows what it’s like to have to keep smiling because hey, _customer_ , even when they’re being a sleazy shithead. Unable to get away because they’re working and goddamn, the day is not off to a great start.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry,” Michael says, hoping he doesn’t turn into one of the stories the barista tells his coworkers about on break. “I just had a rough night and I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean to come off as an asshole.”

He may be babbling a little, judging by the confusion on the barista’s face. But it’s not like he can just come out and say _”I’m not like that, really!”_ and have it be believable when the barista doesn’t know him from Adam.

“Uh...” the barista says, and clears his throat. “No, its okay, I just. Wasn’t expecting that, I guess? But thank you. For the compliment, and the apology?”

Michael stares at the barista, who stares back. Awkwardly, it’s true. This smile on his face like he’s not really sure what’s going on, but smiling is usually a safe bet and Michael doesn’t know what’s going on anymore.

“Okay?” he says.

The barista’s smile goes all crooked, which is unfairly nice to look at. 

“So, allergies?” the barista asks again.

Michael cocks his head. He’s still not sure what’s going on, but that should be a safe thing to answer.

“I'm lactose intolerant, but that’s about it,” he says.

The barista nods to himself like he’s got a mental checklist, is ticking something off.

“Heart problems? Bad blood pressure? Anything like that?”

This is – _look_. 

Michael’s used to telling food service people about the lactose intolerant thing because he’s in for a terrible night if he’s not careful. (He’s already courting danger with the whole cheese thing, and if he gets unexpected dairy in his diet on top of his terrible choices without realizing it, he’s not gonna have a good day.)

But this - 

“You’re not going to steal any of my internal organs, right?” Michael asks, wondering if the guy’s about to ask about his blood type too. “Sell them on the black market? Because you’re just going to be disappointed if you try. I’m a disgusting piece of shit with terrible habits. They’ve got to be ruined by now, and you wouldn’t get a good price for them.”

The barista stares at him with this look caught somewhere between confusion and even more confusion. Maybe a tiny bit of _what the fucking fuck?_ in there to top things off.

“What? No! Oh my God, no, why would you even think that?”

Michael can feel his eyebrows climbing his forehead like it’s an Olympic event.

“Uh,” he says, and it’s a dick move to make fun of the guy, but he’s probably going to steal Michael’s poor, abused liver or his kidneys or some shit, and he thinks he’s allowed in this situation. “Most coffee places don’t ask me for my medical history, buddy.”

The barista frowns, and then realization seems to dawn because he facepalms. Actually literally facepalms, and Michael is fascinated at the way his blush spreads to the tips of his ears.

“Shit, no,” he says weakly, mortified. “That’s - “

The barista scrubs his hands over his face and plants them on the counter between them, this smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and that blush still on his cheeks.

“No,” he says. “I am not going to steal any of your internal organs to sell on the black market. I was asking because I was going to offer to make you the house special.”

Michael squints at him.

“That doesn’t sound any less suspicious, dude.”

“Probably not,” the barista admits, relaxing when Michael doesn’t run screaming. “It’s something my partner came up with after a rough night a while back. He claims it works like magic. Unless you wanted something else?”

Michael’s not going to lie, he feels a little thread of disappointment at the mention of the barista’s partner. 

Which, sure, super shitty of Michael because this guy doesn’t need a hot mess of a customer hitting on him, especially if he’s spoken for.

“Oh, uh. Sure. As long as it keeps me awake, go for it.”

The barista laughs as he goes to brew up whatever concoction requires him to ask if someone has heart problems – what the _fuck_ – and Michael reminds himself not to be more of a shitty being than he usually is.

There’s a lot involved in making this unholy creation, apparently. The barista alternating between sweet-talking and threatening the espresso machine and muttering to himself like some kind of mad scientist.

After a few minutes he comes back over with what Michael’s started thinking of The Concoction in a regular looking paper cup and sets it down in front of him with a little flourish.

“Ta-da!”

Michael eyes the barista, because who in the hell actually says that?

“Thanks,” he says, and picks the The Concoction up.

It’s a little weird with the barista watching him so intently as Michael takes a sip, but hey, whatever.

“Holy shit,” he says, trying to figure out what his mouth is doing with the barrage of _what the fuck_ he just drank. “What the hell is in this?”

It tastes like what he imagines jet fuel would. Strong as fuck and potent and he doesn’t even know, just that the questions the barista was asking him make a terrible kind of sense now.

“Oh, just a little of this, a little of that,” the barista says in a light and airy tone. “I added a sprinkle of cinnamon – not standard, but I like to think it gives it a nice touch.”

The barista is grinning at him, like he knows all Michael can taste right now is jet fuel and suffering, but he also feels more awake. And, okay, Michael actually detect a faint sliver of cinnamon in there.

“Oh yeah,” he says, “it’s great. Thanks.”

========

Michael doesn’t stop by the coffee place for a few days after that between work and school. (And telling himself that despite all evidence to the contrary, he isn’t so desperate that he’d go back just to pine for the barista like an idiot.)

But he has a rough day, gets a lower grade on a paper than he was expecting after he put more effort into it than he usually does, and he feels a little bummed.

Gavin’s got a lab, and Michael knows he’d skip it if he asked with no questions asked, but even he’s not that much of an asshole. This isn’t a crisis, per se, because Michael still got a decent grade on his paper and he can make up for with with extra credit projects and all that, just - 

“Hey,” the barista calls out when he sees him. “I didn't kill you after all, that's great!”

Michael snorts at the barista’s obvious delight at not having poisoned him, and ignores the scandalized look the soccer mom sitting at one of the tables gives them.

He’s a little surprised the guy remembers him, but he supposes it isn’t everyday that one of your customers accuse you of organ trafficking. It seems like the sort of thing that sticks with you.

There’s a handful of people in the place, and the barista is fussing with the pastries and other baked goods on display. Easy smile on his face as Michael walks up to the counter.

“Apparently not,” he says, and smiles at the barista before studying the menu. 

Michael’s not in bad shape the way he was the first time came here. Just needs a little pick-me-up to help him shake that heavy feeling.

He does feel a little guilty that the way he’s doing that is by stealing a little time with the barista when he knows the guy has a significant other, but.

Michael’s had a bad day and it’s not like he’s ever going to to anything about his feelings. (And it sounds creepier the more he tries to rationalize it to himself, which is great. But maybe they can be friends, or something like that. That would be okay, he thinks.)

The barista grins at him, and Michael's heart – his stupid, stupid heart – does this little somersault in his chest.

“What can I get for you today?” the barista asks, and Michael notices he’s wearing a name tag this time around. Shiny and new with _Ryan_ in the same neat block letters on the coffee shop’s sign outside. “You need another house special?”

Michael grimaces because fucking Christ, _no_.

“Thanks, but I’d rather die!” Michael says, nice and pleasant and trying not to laugh at the soft gasp from the soccer mom who should really learn not to eavesdrop. “I’m thinking more of the daily special this time.”

It’s his fallback in these situations. Get the thing being advertised because it’s either going to be amazing or the worst thing ever but hey, no waffling over what to get either way.

The thing is that the daily special is a horrific looking thing with orange and purple sprinkles.

“My partner’s creation,” Ryan says, crooked smile on his face as he sets the drink down in front of him, all proud and shit.

Michael’s starting to wonder if Ryan’s partner is even human at this rate. The daily special is ridiculously sugary, but it tastes a million times better than The Concoction, so that's something.

“He sounds like a menace,” Michael says, before he thinks better of it, hopes he hasn’t offended Ryan by insulting his partner.

Thankfully Ryan just laughs, eyes crinkling as he does, and holy shit, Michael loves his dorky little laugh. (It’s not a problem, though. Really, seriously not a problem.)

========

Michael’s the kind of idiot who makes poor decisions all the damn time. 

Early morning class? 

Check. 

Considering Gavin- _fucking_ -Free to be one his closest, if not best friends?

Double fucking check.

Making it a habit to go back to Ryan’s coffee shop time and time again even though he’s so thoroughly fucked over the guy who is spoken for?

Stick a fucking fork in Michael, he’s so fucking done.

But hey, why not be a sad sack of shit?

He gets to be there when the coffee shop gets cats who roam around freely and make furry little menaces of themselves.

Curling up on Michael’s textbooks and sprawling across his laptop when he goes there to study and pawing at his legs for attention like the furry annoyances they are. Plopping themselves on his lap the moment he sits down. Digging in wth the slightest prick of their claws as a warning to stay the fuck still and be a good pillow or the jeans get it. (And, you know, his legs.)

According to Ryan they’re strays his partner rescued, and since their building doesn’t take pets they more or less live at the coffee shop.

Michael’s not much of a cat guy, but as far as cats go they’re pretty decent. Cute as hell, and when Michael comes home covered in cat hair more than once Gavin insists on meeting them since Michael’s been hogging them so much.

Which.

Disaster in the making, because _Gavin_.

Gavin knows what Michael’s like when he’s got a crush. Knows he’s not super keen on coffee but still comes here on a regular basis. It’s not hard to do the math from there, and Gavin using his love of cats as an excuse to check Ryan out is right up his alley.

The cats are oddly shy sometimes, and he can see them lurking in dark corners, eyeing the handful of people warily. 

Gavin’s spotted them, but he’s exercising restraint for the moment. Or at least that’s what Michael assumes, until he notices the oddly intent look on Gavin’s face as looks at Ryan, who’s helping a customer.

“Oh, so this is the place,” Gavin says, something in his voice that has Michael giving him a sharp look. “It’s quaint.”

Michael grabs Gavin’s arm, pulls him nice and close so he can whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

“If you pull any of your bullshit in here I swear to God I will fucking murder you, Gavin.”

Gavin grins. Big and bright and so clearly out to fuck up Michael’s life even more than Michael could, which is saying a whole hell of a lot.

“Why Michael,” he says, hand on his chest as he bats his eyes. “I would never.”

Michael sighs as he lets Gavin go, watches him make his way over to the counter.

Ryan’s watching them, this odd expression on his face that clears up when Gavin steps up to the counter. All sweetness and light like he’s not a horrible little troll.

Michael trails behind, lets someone go ahead of him because part of him is morbidly fascinated to see how Ryan’s first meeting with Gavin is going to go. 

Ryan’s a bit of an asshole. Snarky comments and this sense of humor that’s a little on the dark side, it’s true, but he’s smart and funny, although Michael might be a bit biased on that front. 

Gavin, on the other hand, is a complete asshole. Born troublemaker and way too fucking smart for his own good. This weird ability to talk people into doing whatever he wants even though they fucking well know better. And it all goes hand-in-hand with the way people either love him or hate him within moments of meeting him.

It should be a hell of a show, but - 

Michael frowns, because Ryan’s all customer service mode with Gavin, and it’s weird to see.

There’s a commotion behind Michael, some little old ladies bickering about some scandal in their knitting circle. Michael gets distracted listening to them because they’re fucking vicious, cut no one any slack and it’s amazing.

“What did you just say?”

Michael’s attention snaps back to Ryan and Gavin, heart sinking at the affronted look on Ryan’s face. What the fuck did Gavin say to him to put that expression on his face that quickly?

There’s a college kid in front of him. Some sleepy-eyed woman who looks like she’s waiting for death to take her – med student, maybe? - and he murmurs an apology as he moves past her.

Gavin’s grinning as he holds up a coin and flips the fucking thing. This look on his face like he’s never been wrong in his life and Michael knows, _knows_ , what’s going on when suddenly. Sees it in the helpless frustration and rage on Ryan’s face.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Michael hisses, slapping a hand over Gavin’s mouth before he can poke the bear further. “I told you to behave, you dick.”

Gavin is laughing, muffled noises leaking around Michael's hand as he turns to Ryan, so unbelievably sorry he inflicted this asshole on him.

“That’s not how coins work,” Ryan hisses, and Michael despairs because Gavin’s got him where he wants him. Got him all invested in the fucking Coin Argument and there’s no going back from this now. “It’s not how _science_ works.”

Gavin licks Michael’s palm because he’s a fucking cheater, and Michael yanks his hand away because that’s fucking disgusting. He wipes his spit off on Gavin’s shirt and ignores the dirty look Gavin gives him for that.

“But Ryan - “

“Oh my God, shut up” Michael says, and pushes and shoves until Gavin starts moving. 

He looks back at Ryan who still looks furious because Gavin just has that way about him. 

“I’m sorry about him!” he calls, and gets Gavin out of there before Ryan’s head explodes.

Gavin’s delighted as Michael corrals him in a corner booth, all lit up with it.

“Oh, Michael,” he says, hand on his chin as Michael scowls at him. “He’s _lovely_.”

That’s kind of the problem, really.

But Michael’s a pro at making the worst decisions, so this is really no different.

Michael opens his mouth to threaten Gavin to behave or he’s going to kill him right here and now – 

_Mrrrp?_

It’s one of the cats, the little black one that’s just out of kittenhood.

Gavin makes this ungodly cooing noise as it ventures closer having recognized Michael, and a little warier of Gavin.

Annoyed at him as he is, Michael can’t help smiling as Gavin coos and babbles at the cat. All soft and sweet and stupid over the damn thing the way he is over just about any animal dumb enough to let him get close.

Seeing it goes a long way to easing the ache in his chest, and Michael forgets his stupid, hopeless crush on Ryan to tease Gavin instead.

========

Michael slinks back to Ryan’s coffee shop a few days later. No Gavin in sight because he’s afraid of what might happen if they meet again.

Not like. Worried Ryan might kill him, because once the Coin Argument was out of the picture the two of them had had a normal enough conversation. Techy geek talk, Ryan lighting up as Gavin not only kept up with him but seemed to honestly challenge him.

Which, nice to know they get along well, but Michael still feels the need to apologize for Gavin. He’s a lot to take when he’s in that kind of mood, and has a track record of getting off on the wrong foot with people.

“Uh, hey,” Michael says, because the barista behind the counter isn't Ryan.

Short, with a bright smile on his face when he looks up that slowly morphs into a frown.

Michael has a feeling he knows who it is, but the orange and purple hair is kind of a giveaway. (That, and the name tag he’s wearing reads _Jeremy_ , and Ryan’s told him some stories about his partner before. This guy who he adores just about more than anything, so.)

“Hey,” he says, and then, “You wouldn’t happen to be Michael, would you?”

Well, that’s probably not good.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “Why?”

Jeremy snorts, digging under the counter until he comes up with a fucking USB drive.

“Ryan wants you to give this to, and I quote, ‘That piece of shit Gavin’. He mentioned something about coins? I don’t know man, he was up half the night putting this thing together.”

Michael takes the USB drive and eyes it warily.

“It’s not some kind of virus or doomsday program, is it? I know Gavin can be annoying, but I don’t want to help the end of the world along because he can’t fucking let the coin thing go and inflicted it on Ryan.”

Jeremy chuckles, which is in no way reassuring.

“Probably not,” he says with a shrug. “But this is Ryan, so maybe back everything up first and look into survival gear, just in case?”

That. 

Okay.

“Daily special?” Jeremy asks, amused about something. “Ryan says you always get that, unless you want a house special?”

Michael doesn't know what to make of the fact that Ryan apparently talks to Jeremy about him. So much so that Jeremy knows what Michael orders when he comes in, but Jeremy doesn’t seem upset about it. Is, in fact, pretty damn amused by it if that grin on his face is anything to go by.

“The daily special sounds good,” Michael says, glancing at the picture on the menu. Some brown and white cow print and this weird font he’s seen used for movies set in a medieval time period. “I think.”

Jeremy follows his gaze and laughs, and it’s not mean, just the kind of thing that he would expect to hear from a super villain rather than a coffee shop barista. (But Jeremy is dating Ryan, so maybe Michael’s wrong on that front.)

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s all stupid fond. “This one was Ryan’s idea.”

“Reassuring,” Michael says, and smiles at the look Jeremy gives him.

This thing he’s familiar with when it comes to dealing with Gavin and other people's reactions to him. All _buddy, you have_ no _idea_ , and it’s nice to know he’s not the only one to have that problem.

========

When finals roll around Michael doesn’t get a lot of free-time between work and school and endless hours of studying. 

With his course load Gavin has it worse than he does. Pulling at his hair as he flits from one set of study notes and projects to the next, looking tired and worn down and fraying at both ends. His fragile little British mind about to crack under the pressure, and Michael decides he needs to do something if Gavin’s going to stay sane(ish).

“Come on, asshole,” he snaps, throwing Gavin’s jacket at his face. “I need coffee.”

The glazed look in Gavin’s eyes clears a little, mouth curving in a sly grin before his brain has fully re-engaged because he’s just wired that way.

“Really, Michael? Are you sure you don’t want to see - “

Michael kicks Gavin’s shoes at him. It’s not quite the same as the game he plays with Burnie, but the way Gavin squawks and ducks behind the couch is almost as satisfying.

“Sorry, what was that? I didn’t catch that, Gav.”

All he can see of Gavin is the top of his head and his stupid eyes poking up over the back of the couch.

“Michael,” he whines, more life to him now that he's not frying his brain over whatever he’s been studying. “You’re a bloody bully, Michael.”

Michael snorts as he pats himself down to make sure he has his wallet and and keys. 

“Yeah, well. Someone has to keep you in line. So either hurry the fuck up or I'm leaving your ass behind.”

Gavin jumps up, and there’s this feeling in Michael’s chest that feels a whole hell of a lot like fondness for the fucker as Gavin pulls his shoes on and hunts his own wallet and keys down. 

“Ready?” Michael asks, tossing his keys lightly in his hand.

Gavin runs a hand through his hair, bird’s nest that it is, and grins at him. He already looks better than he did a few minutes ago.

“Right,” he says, and there's that grin again. “Let’s go see Ryan!”

Goddamn, Michael’s going to kill the fucker one of these days.

“I’m going to kill you one of these days, Gav. Swear to God.”

Gavin, reckless little idiot that he is, just laughs like he thinks Michael's joking and trots on ahead, leaving Michael to lock up behind him. (Of course he does.)

It’s gray and rainy out, everything quiet and calm and soothing. Seeing the the way Gavin slowly relaxes, Michael wishes he’d dragged Gavin out of the apartment sooner, given that big brain of his a rest before it got to this point.

The coffee shop’s about half full when they get there, wild-eyed students studying and all but pouring coffee after coffee down their gullets while Ryan and Jeremy look on in bemusement. 

The cats are roaming free, stopping for pets and scritches from students who look moments from cracking until their furry visitor bats them with a paw for attention. Imperious and demanding and rewarding their loyal subjects with quiet purring and gentle headbutts.

Out of the corner of his eye Michael sees Gavin perk up at the sight of the cats. Grins when he sees the black one making a beeline for Gavin with this inquisitive little chirrup like it’s been wondering where he’s been, how dare he stay away so long.

“Go on,” Michael says, and gives Gavin a light push. “I’ll get your usual.”

Gavin shoots him a grateful look as he goes over to the cat already spewing nonsense in this soft little voice. Shoulders coming down slightly as tension he’s been carrying for days now starts to bleed out of him bit by bit.

Michael watches him for a long moment before he gives himself a shake and goes over the line that’s formed.

Ryan catches his eye as he steps up behind the soccer mom from way back when, and waves at him. Michael can feel the soccer mom watching them, ignores her because hey, he’s an idiot for Ryan, and waves back.

He hears a bark of laughter and looks over to see Jeremy shaking his head at them, this odd little grin on his face as he hands a customer her order.

And, right. 

Right

Michael likes Jeremy, he really does. Jeremy’s a nice guy and definitely good for Ryan, and Michael needs to do something about his hopeless little crush because it’s just kind of exhausting now.

The soccer mom’s still watching him, and Michael frowns at her, eyebrows going up when she huffs and turns back to her phone. (Michael has no idea what her problem is, but whatever.)

After a few minutes he gets to the front of the line, and Ryan with his big dumb smile.

“Hey,” Ryan says, like a dork. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Fucking fuck, Michael’s taste in men is so shitty.

“Wow, yeah,” he says, smiling in spite of himself. “Such a surprise.”

Jeremy leans around Ryan, that odd little smile still on his face as he looks at Michael.

“Daily special?” he asks, and chortles as Ryan complains about him stealing his customers. “Shut the fuck up and call it a day, Ryan. Trevor and Alfredo should be here soon to take over for us and I can handle the customers until then.”

Ryan blinks, looking at Michael who shrugs, and then grins as he pulls his apron off and comes around the counter.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks. “Apparently Jeremy’s calling the shots today.”

Michael looks over to where Jeremy’s busy making his drink, and back to Ryan who has this hopeful little look on his face.

“Sure. I brought Gavin with me though, so be prepared for stupid questions.”

And Ryan, because he’s a good sport and actually seems to like Gavin for some godforsaken reason, just laughs.

========

“Okay, but,” Gavin says, with a lap full of cat and this delighted smile on his face because Ryan isn't doesn’t humor him when he asks these kind of questions. “How much is a human body worth if sold by parts?”

Michael watches as Ryan gives his question serious thought. Drumming his fingers on the table before he reaches for a napkin and plucks the pen tucked behind his ear like he’s about take fucking _notes_.

“Well,” he says, and points at Gavin with the pen. “Okay. Do you mean organic components, or choppy chop with an axe?”

Gavin grimaces as Ryan makes chopping motions, but soldiers on because he’s a weirdo.

“That’s morbid, Ryan,” he says, like he wasn’t there for the part where he asked Ryan how much a human body is worth when you sell it as parts.

Ryan raises an eyebrow at him.

“Organic components, or choppy chop, Gavin? Which one is it?”

Michael tunes them out as they go back and forth for a while. Ryan getting more and more worked up because Gavin has this amazing ability to be the most infuriating person in the world when he puts his mind to it, and it’s entertaining as hell to see someone else suffering for a change.

“I don’t want to know, do I?” Jeremy asks, pulling up a chair. 

Gavin leans back in his seat, gaze raking over Jeremy and it occurs to Michael they’ve never met. Gavin always too busy with school or one of his projects to accompany Michael to the coffee shop that often, and when he did it was usually Ryan or one of the twins behind the counter.

An odd expression flits across Gavin’s face before he tucks it away nice and neat and smiles at Jeremy, but Michael knows what he saw. This little flicker of interest before Gavin shut it down hard. Remembered what Michael told him about Ryan and Jeremy and hopeless crushes. (Gavin’s a whole hell of a lot smarter than Michael is on any given day.)

Ryan introduces the two of them, and Michael feels for Gavin when Ryan calls Jeremy his partner because Gavin’s staring at Jeremy a little too long.

“You're probably better off not knowing” Michael says to Jeremy in answer to his earlier question. “The freaks over there are talking about selling body parts.”

Michael grins at the protest from the science nerds on the other side of the table, and laughs when Jeremy gives them both this flatly unimpressed look.

“Why,” he asks.”Why in the hell would you ever want to know that?”

And Gavin, never satisfied with leaving well enough alone, presents his question to Jeremy like it’s a perfectly normal kind of thing to wonder. Like he’s not a complete weirdo who thinks about the strangest shit, and has absolutely no qualms about inflicting said questions on the unsuspecting and undeserving.

Michael sits back and watches the debate, as it is, rage on this warm little feeling in his chest at seeing his idiot friends getting along. 

And while he still hasn’t kicked that his crush on Ryan, but it’s settled into this quiet little ache in his chest that he thinks he can live with.

========

The day Michael has three finals in a row he just wants to crawl into bed and sleep for the next week, but he’s got work later and he needs energy.

Gavin’s still in one of his finals, and Michael’s his ride home, so he heads to the coffee shop. It's almost empty, just Ryan, Trevor, and a couple of half-dead students who are in their own little worlds as they cram for their next finals.

“Hey,” Michael says. “I think I need the house special.”

Ryan makes a face at the sight of him, which is great for Michael’s fragile ego.

“That bad, huh?”

Kind of, yeah. 

“I just had three finals in a row,” Michael says. “You tell me.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything else, just goes about making The Concoction with a focus Michael can’t help but admire.

When he’s finished, he dithers for a moment before seeming to make a decision, and tells Trevor he’s taking his break early as he brings Michael's drink over.

“Uh,” Ryan says, once he’s standing in front of him. “I. Uh. Wanted to ask you something?”

He’s still holding Michael's coffee.

“Are you keeping that hostage so I’ll say yes?” he asks, laughing at the look on Ryan’s face like he’d forgotten he still had it.

“God, no,” Ryan says, and holds it out to him. “Sorry, I was just. Distracted.”

He seems it.

“Sure,” Michael says. “I’ve got time to talk.”

They pick out a table facing the street and Ryan’s good enough to let Michael suck down some of the his coffee before getting into things.

“So, Gavin,” Ryan says. Slow, hesitant like he’s not sure how to approach the subject. “Is he seeing anyone?”

Ryan’s blushing again, but he’s meeting Michael's eyes squarely. Hands clasped together on the table in front of him, and Michael has no fucking clue what’s going on. 

Some part of him pointing out that Jeremy had seemed pretty interested in Gavin when they met not too long ago. Prolonged eye contact and leaning into his space a little more that usual. This _smile_ on his face when Gavin laughed at one of his jokes or their hands brushed reaching for something on the table.

Other little things that hadn’t seemed to be that important at the time, but now?

Yeah.

That same part of Michael is also pointing out that Ryan likes Gavin reasonably well given their first meeting, and Michael’s probably watched one too many teen dramas, because this can’t possibly be leading where he thinks it is. (Please God, no. He doesn’t need that mental image floating around in his head.)

“Not at the moment, no,” Michael says, because he would know if Gavin was seeing someone. Things he’s picked up on over the years, and Gavin being a secret sap. “Why?”

Ryan’s frowning, like he’s figuring out the puzzle of the century here. 

“It's just.” He cocks his head to the side. “You’re not dating him?”

That - 

“Jesus, no,” Michael says, and doesn’t miss the odd look on Ryan’s face. “I mean, I love the asshole, sure, but we’re. No. One of us would probably end up dead if we were dating.”

Either Michael would kill himself, or he’d kill Gavin and _then_ himself if they were. (Not to be dramatic)

“Oh,” Ryan says. 

Nice and simple, just _‘oh’_.

“...Mind if I ask what brought that on?” Michael asks, because he kind of needs to know. 

For reasons.

(Needs to know if Ryan’s trying to arrange a threesome for Jeremy and himself with Gavin, because, _no_.)

Ryan looks around like he’s worried someone’s spying on them, and leans in.

“Jeremy like-likes him,” he says, like they’re middle school.

Only unlike middle school, Ryan doesn’t look like he’s about to call Gavin out for trying to steal his man, or whatever is going on here. 

In fact, he doesn’t seem upset. 

At all.

“Okay,” Michael says. “Sorry if this is too personal, but doesn’t that make things weird for you two? Or do you just have an open relationship?”

Michael’s going to go ahead and blame his finals-induced exhaustion and the jet fuel running through his veins on the complete lack of brain-to-mouth filter he has going on.

“What?”

Michael stares at Ryan, who’s staring at him.

“You and Jeremy?” Michael prompts. “Aren’t you two a thing or whatever?”

Ryan looks - 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ryan asks, like he thinks Michael’s lost it, just gone and snapped altogether.

Michael has the feeling there’s some serious misunderstanding going on here, his dumb heart sitting up and taking notice.

“Aren’t you two dating?” Michael asks, and thinks he’s actually going to lose his mind when Ryan just looks completely bewildered.

“No?” Ryan says. “I don’t – no. We’re not dating, Michael. Why would you think - “

Holy shit. 

Holy fucking shit.

“You literally call him your partner all the fucking time,” Michael hisses, feeling like he's about to have a fucking stroke. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

“He’s my work partner?” Ryan says, and oh sweet Jesus Michael wants to kill him.

“You work partner.”

Fucking Christ, what the fuck even is Michael’s life.

Ryan leans back, somehow sensing that Michael is losing his shit here.

“Yes? We met a few years ago and hit it off, and then we decided we wanted to open up a coffee shop together?”

Like you do, Michael supposes, dropping his head on the table.

“Your fucking _work partner_ ,” he mutters, his stupid heart so damned confused it doesn’t even know what it should be doing right now.

“Michael?”

Michael lifts his head to see Ryan watching him with all this _concern_ on his face.

“So let me get this straight,” Michael says. “You and Jeremy are just work partners, and now Jeremy has the hots for Gavin, so you’re...what. Playing matchmaker?”

Ryan nods, slow and careful like he’s worried about setting Michael off.

“Sort of?” he says. “Jeremy’s been pining, even if he won’t admit it because he thought you and Gavin were dating, but he wasn’t sure because you guys give off mixed signals. I thought I would clear that misunderstanding up before it got out of hand.”

Michael kind of wants to to cry, just a little bit, as he drops his head back down because Ryan thinks he and Gavin give off mixed signals, _Jesus fucking Christ._

“Are you – Michael, are you okay?”

He is not.

“Gav’s into him,” he says, voice muffled by the table. “Like. A lot. Practically wrote a sonnet about his biceps.”

Might as well help that little romance along if he can, God knows Gavin deserves someone who’d be good to him after some of the fuckers he’s dated in the past. Michael likes to think Jeremy could be that guy. (And if he isn’t, Michael’s going to have words with him, see if he fucking doesn’t.)

“Is that it?” Michael asks, because he needs to go home and wallow for a bit over how stupid everyone in his life is, including him. (Especially him.)

Ryan’s quiet.

 _Too_ quiet.

“Ryan?” Michael asks, sitting up to look at him.

Ryan is beet-fucking-red, and suddenly can’t seem to look him in the eye.

“Ryan?”

Ryan makes this noise in his throat. Part frustration, part embarrassment, part who the fuck knows, but it’s kind of hot. (Michael would be lying if he said Ryan’s voice didn’t do things to him, because goddamn.)

“I, uh.” 

Ryan sighs, looking at Michael a little helplessly.

“Are you seeing anyone, Michael?”

He sounds like he’s not really holding out hope that Michael’s single. Like he really thinks anyone would look twice at the loud, abrasive kid from Jersey who swears way too fucking much and is dumb as a bag of rocks and think, _my God, I need this piece of shit in my life immediately_. 

This idiot who’s had a crush on some stupid bastard going on months now. Did a shitty job of acting like he didn’t because he thought the idiot was spoken for thanks to a misunderstanding.

There’s something in Ryan’s eyes that makes Michael want to be a little brave here, or maybe he’s just too fucking tired to give much of a damn anymore.

“Are you?” Michael asks, and his dumb heart is on the line here, one last chance and all that bullshit.

Ryan tilts his head as he looks at Michael, expression unreadable, and Michael’s gone and fucked up, hasn’t he. 

Took a bad risk because he’s tired and his heart hurts and he feels stupid all over. If he’s lucky they can laugh this off, go back to being friends. Maybe give Gavin and Jeremy shit if they do start dating.

 _If_ he’s lucky and hasn’t completely fucked things up between them, that is.

And then Ryan sighs, this odd smile on his face.

“No,” he says. “I’m not.”

Michael stares at him for a long, long, moment, his dumb old heart flipping the fuck out as he looks at Ryan, who looks back.

“What a coincidence,” Michael says, sounding calmer than he feels. “Neither am I.”

He pauses, lets that sink in for a moment.

“Huh.”

Michael wants to punch Ryan’s mouth with his mouth, because he likes him. (But also a little because Ryan’s looking adorably confused, and then adorably annoyed.)

“Wait,” Ryan says, like he’s just had the same kind epiphany Michael has. “ _Wait_.”

Michael starts laughing because they’re the stupidest assholes in the world.

“Ryan,” Michael says, feeling stupid brave as he reaches out to tangle their fingers together. “Will you go steady with me?”

There’s this long, strangely comfortable pause while Ryan looks down at their hands.

At Michael’s face, and the tired, exasperated smile he knows has to be there, before he smiles a little himself.

“I’d love to,” Ryan says, sweetly shy, and Michael's heart is fucking singing as Ryan squeezes his hand.

========

“Okay,” Geoff says, like he cannot believe how fucking stupid Michael is. “So you meet the guy of your dreams and then proceed to be a complete dumbass about it for months, and now everything’s fine between you two?”

Michael shrugs as he gives the bottle of beer in his hand a shake to see how much is left.

“That’s kind of the gist of things, yeah,” he says, turns his head at the sudden burst of laughter in the other room.

He can pick out Gavin’s voice along with Jeremy’s, distinctive and loud as hell among the myriad of voices. 

“But I mean. I wouldn’t call Ryan the ‘man of my dreams’ because that's fucking creepy, but yeah.”

Geoff gives hims this deeply unimpressed look and Michael, okay. 

He loves Geoff because the man’s been something of a mentor for him in the past. Helped him get his shit together and he values Geoff’s advice.

But this -

He’s talked about the whole ridiculous emotional clusterfuck that’s been going on with him and Ryan at length _with_ Ryan. 

Gone through and untangled everything so there aren’t any unpleasant surprises waiting to be sprung on them, no more misunderstandings to be had.

Had to, because they’re both clueless idiots and and Gavin and Jeremy still haven’t let them live it down. (Jeremy insists on calling Ryan partner all the time now and it’s kind of fucking hilarious in hindsight.)

Geoff’s looking at him like hey, he loves him, he really does, but goddamn is Michael stupid sometimes.

“Yeah,” Michael sighs, dumb smile on his face when Ryan pokes his head into Geoff’s kitchen to sneak another diet soda from the fridge like Geoff hasn't offered everyone free run of his house for the party so long as they keep it in their pants. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

Geoff shakes his head and pats Michael on he shoulder, laughing softly as he grabs the tray with the snacks on them. 

Michael picks up a couple to help, and follows him out to where the others are.

There’s this warm, soft feeling in his chest when Ryan looks up to catch his eye. 

Life is actually pretty good right now, and for all his stupid, Michael’s also insanely lucky.

“Hey,” Michael says, ignoring the way he others hoot and catcall when Ryan leans down to press a kiss to his cheek.

It’s a distraction, Ryan snagging food from the tray Michael’s still carrying like it isn't for all of them because he’s a menace.

Ryan pulls back, smug little smile on his face.

“Hey.”

Christ, he’s such an idiot, but that’s fine because Michael’s just as bad as he is and somehow they still manage to make it work for them.


	2. Alternate scene: Two idiot peas in a pod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael looks at Ryan for a long moment after he tells Michael he’s not seeing anyone. Just stares at the idiot waiting on Michael’s own answer with this _look_ on his face and Michael’s heart in his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Miss-Ingno is a terrible person who gives me [the worst ideas](https://archiveofourown.org/comments/184223153) >:((((((((((((((((((((((
> 
> Takes place during the ~love confession scene just after Ryan asks if Michael is seeing anyone.

Michael looks at Ryan for a long moment after he tells Michael he’s not seeing anyone. Just stares at the idiot waiting on Michael’s own answer with this _look_ on his face and Michael’s heart in his throat.

Thinks about how stupid they both are. All the time they’ve wasted because they’re just _that_ dumb.

Ryan’s watching him, this little glimmer of hope in the back of his eyes because Michael hasn’t given him an answer yet, but it’s pretty obvious what it’s going to be, isn’t it?

Michael wants to laugh, he does, because they’re just so dumb and Ryan’s got this look on his face that makes Michael want to kiss the shit out of him. All sweet and shy and goofy looking, trying so hard to be good in case Michael _is_ seeing someone, and it’s a little too much for Michael’s heart right now. 

“No, I'm not seeing anyone. Been kinda busy pining about this guy I thought was dating his co-worker like a dumbass, you see.”

He means it as a joke, gentle teasing, but Michael forgot one crucial fact:

Ryan is a fucking _idiot_.

“Oh,” Ryan says, and Michael watches him pull everything back, or try to, but he’s put too much of himself out there that he doesn’t quite manage it. “I see.”

Michael stares at Ryan who gives him this sad, wobbly little smile, and cannot fucking believe his eyes. 

Feels his heart fucking rabbit-punch him in the chest for being an asshole, even though he didn’t expect Ryan to be this stupid. (He should have, though. Jesus fucking Christ he so should have.)

“Does he know?” Ryan asks, plucking a napkin out of the dispenser to give his hands something to do. Slowly, methodically shredding it as he smiles, smiles, smiles, and tries to be a good friend. Supportive. Helping Michael out with this little problem of his. “I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be interested, you’re quite the catch.”

Michael watches Ryan’s eyes widen, blush stealing over his cheeks as he backpedals, tries to play it off as an objective observation. 

Listing qualities of Michael’s as is they’re good reasons why someone should want to date him like he isn’t an unrepentant asshole. Encourages him to just go for it. Take a risk and tell him how he feels, because anyone would be lucky to have him.

Meanwhile, Michael is having what he imagines an out of body experience must be like as Ryan babbles and babbles and babbles. Clearly hoping Michael hasn’t noticed the bit where he’s been pining over Michael, that he isn’t breaking both their hearts just a little bit with this.

“Ryan,” Michael says gently. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ryan snaps his mouth shut and watches Michael nervously. The napkin reduced to this tiny, sad pile that he can’t seem to stop messing with.

He feels like an asshole – more than he usually does, and not in the good way – as he slowly reaches out and puts his hands over Ryan’s. Can’t look at him, not yet, so he focuses on the their hands instead.

“This guy,” he says, hoping he’s not fucking things up even worse. “He’s real sweet, you know? Thoughtful. Kind. Always ready to help if someone needs something, even it’s stupid.” 

He’s seen enough of it since they met, the two of them sharing stories over coffee and the little pastries he makes here. Things he’s seen for himself. (Fucking _this_.)

Ryan’s quiet, not saying a damn thing as he lets Michael talk and talk and talk.

“But he’s kind of an asshole too,” and Michael smiles at that. “The good kind, though, you know? Teases his friends and gives them shit when they deserve it, but he’s a good guy. Looks out for them even if it’s not in his best interest.”

Michael brushes his thumb over Ryan’s knuckles when he stiffens, and bites his lip because he’s not sure if he's doing this right, but can’t stop now.

“Michael - “

Michael swallows hard at the strained note to Ryan’s voice, because yeah. It has to suck to be him right now. Listen to Michael talk about this guy who obviously couldn’t be him, God no.

“He’s hot as fuck, too,” Michael says, and squeezes Ryan’s hands when they twitch. “And his voice? Jesus Christ, don’t get me started.”

Fucking seriously, don’t.

“Successful. Runs this business with his friend. Told me it’s named after some dumb nickname someone gave them way back when,” he says, and Ryan is suddenly so, so still. “This little coffee shop, and I go there all the fucking time. Which, you know. I’m not that big on coffee, but you should see this guy’s smile. It could probably cure fucking cancer or something.”

Finally, finally, Michael looks up at Ryan.

Sees him watching him with this unreadable expression on his face, and for a moment Michael's worried he fucked things up between them. Read things wrong, jumped to conclusions and shit, which would be perfect really.

“...Jeremy’s smile _is_ pretty great,” Ryan says, dead serious. “I can see why it would draw you to him.”

Michael’s heart stops in his chest as he stares at Ryan in disbelief. Can’t believe how the hell someone could be so stupid. Wonders what the fuck he has to do to get through to him - and then the fucker _smiles_.

This slow, shy, little thing like he can’t believe his ears, that Michael like-likes him. That Michael is head over heels for him and dying a little over it with every passing day he sits on that tangle of feelings for the stupid bastard.

“You son of a bitch,” Michael says, eyes narrowing as Ryan starts to laugh. “You goddamn son of a bitch.”

Ryan’s still laughing, because the part where he’s an asshole, but there’s this look in his eyes that hits Michael hard. Soft, surprised, so, so fragile like he still doesn’t believe this, doesn’t want to risk trusting in it too hard, and Michael - 

“God, I can’t believe I like you so much,” he mutters, moving to tangle their hands together before Ryan can find some way to misinterpret that too. 

Ryan’s laughter trails off and there’s that goofy little smile of his Michael’s an idiot for.

“Me either,” Ryan admits, because he has no fucking clue what he does to Michael, but that’s fine because Michael intends to show him. “Guess I’m just lucky that way.”


End file.
